Lo and Behold
by hglund
Summary: With Gotham being a failure, the League begins to rebuild and set their eyes on a new goal.
1. Chapter 1

The College Experience

Everything had gone to shit pretty fast.

One moment, Laurel was sitting in the cafeteria with Tony and his shitty friends trying to pretend that she belonged there and the next everyone was running in different directions screaming.

Laurel Heim was not supposed to be in the cafeteria. At least, not with the students. As an employee at the college, she could eat in the faculty section, a poorly lit corner near the dish room. Tony's friends seemed to know this and kept shooting her looks of thinly veiled disgust. She ignored them, refusing to be the one to create any problems. She had promised Tony as much.

Tony and Laurel had known each other since third grade. They met when he moved to town a month before school began. He had nearly died that day, finding himself running from Hank. Hank was Laurel's dad's giant German Shepard. The beast was huge and ferocious, tearing after anyone who dared walk past the house when the gate was open. Laurel had watched it for a while, curious if the boy could outrun the dog. He _was_ , but Hank was gaining fast. Just before he could sink his jaws into the boy's right flank, Laurel whistled and Hank skidded to a halt. Tony just kept running for a while, feet barely touching the ground. She whistled again and he too stopped.

He had turned around and saw her just standing there, leaning on Hank, and let out a sigh of relief.

"You're not gunna let him kill me right?" he had asked.

"Nah," she'd grinned. "I'm Lo."

"Tony," he had smiled back.

From that day forward, they were inseparable.

College had been an issue at first. Tony had been accepted to plenty of schools, earning quite a few scholarships. Laurel, however, would not be attending any sort of college. Had she actually applied herself in high school, she could have gotten a hefty scholarship of her own and gone to a pretty good college in the process. However, she couldn't be bothered, too busy running across town for money. So, Tony went to National Guard for the free tuition, then went to the local university the following year. He was getting an education while she cut grass for minimum wage. Which brought them to the cafeteria on a Tuesday in September.

Gunshots had her ears ringing as Tony dragged her beneath a table. She couldn't see anyone, at least no one with a gun.

"Jesus Christ," Tony panted.

"The fuck is going on?" she whispered. He shrugged, eyes darting across the huge room. He seemed to switch into a different Tony, the kind that she had only seen in his military photos. It was a little disarming. More shots were fired and she tried to find the source. Her eyes immediately fastened to the slim, brunette woman, overshadowed by a mountain of a man.

They were a ferocious pair. The man stood at more than six feet tall, bald, and scarred on his face and arms. The woman was beautiful in her fierceness. She held some large powerful looking gun while the man, bald and terrifying, was unarmed. Both seemed entirely too at ease with the chaos that they had created. Laurel glanced around with growing fear as more armed men filled the room, surrounding the students.

"There's at least thirty of them!" Laurel hissed.

"Thirty-four," Tony quietly corrected. He pointed up and sure enough, Laurel saw that there were several more men set up above them, guns trained on the crowds. She let out a shaky breath.

"What are-"

"Anthony Matthias!"

Laurel flinched, effectively silenced by the booming sound their captor calling for Tony. He froze beside her, no longer the steely eyed Private, but the terrified little boy that she had known growing up. He clutched her hand, his palm sweaty.

"Where, is Anthony Matthias?" the man demanded with a peculiar accent she couldn't place. There was murmuring from the students gathered under the other tables, some of them casting Tony strange looks. Most were worried, but some were suspicious and accusatory. As if he had caused this to happen. Tony didn't move.

"Come now." The woman had spoken, stepping around the man. Her voice was melodic and slightly accented. Definitely European, perhaps French. She surveyed the room with a simpering smile. Laurel couldn't see the color of her eyes, but they were bright beneath the light. "Don't let others suffer in your place."

Something in Tony broke and he tore himself out of Laurel's grip and stood up, staring defiantly up at the women. A genuine grin spread out on her lips, eyes positively dancing. The huge man grunted in approval.

"What do you want?" His voice hardly shook, Laurel noticed, but it was there. She inched forward, ready to spring should he need help. She glanced around once more and she spotted yet another that had not been there before. Lean and ruggedly handsome, he leaned against a pillar, a rifle slung on his shoulder. His finger was dangerously close to the trigger, ready to shoot. He met her gaze with sleepy eyes, and she snarled, suddenly enraged.

"You," the man said. "Come with us. Now."

"Why would I?" Laurel was vaguely exasperated beneath her fury. Why Tony would choose now to be defiant was beyond her?

"Because everyone here will die if you do not," he said simply, as if stating that tomorrow was Wednesday. Laurel couldn't watch Tony and the man with the rifle, so she snuck a hand out to his ankle, only to grasp air. She hissed and moved with her eyes never losing their target til she could reach his foot. Tony didn't even notice, but the man smirked slightly under his scruff.

"Okay."

Laurel saw the men begin to move in before she could process what Tony had said. She was up and at his back in a moment. All movement halted, looking to the giant man. She couldn't see his face, her back to him, but the man with the rifle was no longer smirking. His brow was drawn, eyes dark. She glared at him and the other armed men.

"And who are you?" the woman's voice rang out again, almost soothing Laurel's rage.

"Lo, get back down," Tony whispered fiercely.

"Fuck no," Laurel snarled, fists clenched at her sides.

"Girl?"

"She's no one," Tony insisted. "I'll go, just don't hurt them." To Laurel, he said quietly, "Laurel they want me. Don't get hurt for me." Laurel just snorted, ignoring him. The men slowly began to advance, obeying some signal Laurel didn't see.

"Please, don't hurt her," Tony pleaded. "I'll go, I promise. Just don't hurt her."

"Leave his hands be," the man instructed. "He must be able to run as well."

Laurel's mind flew to comprehend what was happening as one of them rushed her. Clearly, they didn't intend on using their guns on her. She had the chair and was swinging it at the nearest one before she had finished thinking. He fell flat, unmoving. The sudden silence was overwhelming. Everyone stared at her. The man held his rifle higher, half-aimed at her. The sound of heavy breathing filled her ears, and she regretted smoking all those cigarettes now. Tony was crying a little behind her, just breathy sobs that had her wincing.

She knew what she had to do.

With careful precision, she swung the chair once more, twisting just so she connected with Tony's left knee. There was a loud crack and he shouted in shock before dissolving into pained sobs. He crumpled to the ground and she brought the chair down on his right hand. Tony screamed while everyone watched in stunned silence. He was crying but Laurel ignored it as she went after his other knee with brutal accuracy. Another crack and then he had passed out from the pain.

Laurel let out a shaky breath and dropped the chair.

"Take me," she said wearily. "Take me instead of him."


	2. Chapter 2

New Beginning

"Take me. Take me instead of him."

The brunette looked to her dear friend with a raised brow. His handsome, scarred face was wiped of its normal blankness, slack with disbelief. It was beyond him how such a creature had destroyed his perfect initiate. He had placed so much hope in the Matthias boy. The boy had gone to the military and had immediately set about ruining it, attracting their attention. Talia found herself secretly pleased; the boy had seemed more trouble than he was worth.

"What a turn of events," she mused. Bane looked to her, smoothing out his face til it was blank once more. His torn lips twitched at her wink. Talia turned to watch as the girl was subdued, Ali knocking her out with the butt of his rifle. She crumpled much like the boy she had just maimed.

Talia found herself deeply impressed with the girl. She had taken in the smallest bit of information they had let slip and used it to her advantage in a matter of seconds. It was extraordinary.

"She will do," Bane grudgingly allowed, to her delight. He left, and she followed him soon after.

Talia joined Bane and Barsad in one of the vans, Max in the driver's seat. He stared straight forward, ignorant of their conversation unless they met his gaze in the mirror. The two men wore similar petulant expressions. She pouted at them.

"What is it, my brothers?"

"This went poorly," Bane snarled and glared out at the passing city.

"At least there were no police," she offered.

"Yes, because _I_ remembered to jam the cell phones," Barsad grumbled. Talia rolled her eyes at the two.

"You are both being ridiculous," she said. "Did you not see the stunning new addition we gained?"

"You mean the one who decimated our original target?" Talia began to bristle at their attitudes. Bane continued to sulk while Barsad snapped and whined. She felt her blood begin to boil. How could they be so blind? Today was a success!

True, they weren't perfect, but it was to be expected. They had suffered a deep loss. It had taken Bane weeks to recover, while she had been bedridden for months before regaining a semblance of her former strength and ability. They would return to their former skill in time. They just needed to gather themselves. Time was on their side; was their ally.

"When you two realize that I am right, you may speak to me," she hissed. "Until then, I will hear nothing." With that she turned in her seat to face forward. Max glanced at her curiously, but didn't comment. She sighed and tilted her head back to rest.

Barsad sat in stony silence. His sister believed herself right in many matters that she was not. Their previous failure was evidence enough of her ability to be wrong and still not admit it. He had nearly lost is brother for it in the process, something that had him hanging onto the anger.

He glanced over at Bane. It still set Barsad on edge to see him without his mask. It had become such a part of him that he looked unnatural without it. He knew Bane sometimes still wished he had, if only just to hide behind it. There was always a moment right before he spoke to the man, that his eyes flashed with uncertainty. With the mask, the men were too afraid to question him; it had made him unhuman. Now, he was just a large man with scarring. But where Barsad felt uneasy, and Bane felt self-conscious, Talia was delighted. Finally, she could kiss the man who had spent his entire life protecting her. It made Barsad slightly nauseas to believe that that was all she thought of Bane.

As much as Bane wished it, he and Talia would never be family in the way that he and Bane were. They were too different, continuously butting heads. Whether it was planning or teaching or even when it came to Bane, they just couldn't agree with each other. She would not let this go, this so called _victory_. They had been sloppy, even Barsad. He had let the girl get the better of him; he hadn't been able to read her next move. If he had, Anthony Matthias- hacker, athlete, Private- would be in that van instead.

And Bane wouldn't be pouting. But Barsad was definitely not pouting. A man such as him did not pout.

He ground his teeth relentlessly just thinking about that damn girl.

Laurel awoke when her lungs had begun to fill with water. She coughed and struggled against the force holding her head in the icy water. Her lungs burned with their need for oxygen. She bucked and pulled and pushed, her hands bound and useless. With one final thrust, she was released and she sucked in several greedy breaths. It only forced more water into her lungs, and she coughed until it had cleared enough for her to breathe deeply.

Laurel whipped her head side to side, wet hair slapping her face sharply. A trough of water was before her, illuminated by a single bare bulb. A man, the Rifle man, stood on the other side. He watched her closely.

"Where- where am I?" she demanded.

"Your wish came true," he said. Like the brunette woman and the huge man, he had an accent, although decidedly different. She thought maybe South African, like the people in that refugee alien movie. Her mind flew to Tony.

"Is he alive?" she asked, her words barely a whisper. The man levelled her with a venomous look, as if offended by her question. No, maybe not offended, but confused. It was all gone in a moment, replaced with a carefully blank expression.

"Yes."

They had brought her to an old warehouse which had been manipulated to suit their needs. Laurel wasn't the only one. She counted thirteen others, bound and wet like her, all wearing similar masks of confusion. They stood in a line in the center of the warehouse, men watching them from all corners. After what felt like hours of waiting, one man rushed forward, getting right in one man's face. He flinched back and was on the ground in a flash. She hadn't even seen him get hit.

"I am Ali, and you are nothing," he growled. His black eyes darted to every face, daring defiance. One of them muttered a sarcastic "Yes, sir," and he too fell with a shout. No one else spoke, all of them on edge. Ali yelled something in another language and more men came down. A particularly lean man, with shaggy black hair and caramel skin came to stop by Laurel. She shifted away from him slightly, and he bent to whisper in her ear.

"It will hurt the first time," he told her and she stiffened. Her mind came up with only one horrifying possibility. "But I will go easy after he leaves." Any comfort his words were meant to bring was nonexistent. She willed herself to get angry, to become that horrible raging beast the Tony always teased her about. She found no anger, only hopelessness. Ali spoke again in that language- Arabic maybe- and the man beside her moved.

It was like he took a hammer to her jaw. She stumbled back, tears blurring her vision. He held his body loosely, unbothered. Laurel lunged at him and was given a sharp elbow into her spin and a shove to the floor. There it was, beneath the pain, a growing sense of frustration that would give in to the anger. She grinned slightly, trying to ignore the pain. The man laughed when he saw her grin.

He proceeded to give her the beating of her life.

She passed out from the pain when he broke her nose. When she came to, she was on a cot, surrounded by other equally bloody and beaten bodies. She took in a wheezing breath, abruptly concerned that her windpipe was bruised. It took time, but eventually, she managed to get her feet under her and began shuffling. In the opposite corner sat a toilet: dirty, disgusting, and beautiful. Her ankle screamed in pain with each step, not broken but definitely sprained. Finally at the porcelain throne, Laurel yanked down her jeans and underwear and hovered over the toilet. The relief of emptying her bladder wasn't worth the risk of some nasty disease that no doubt lurked on the seat. There was no toilet paper and no handle to flush, so she pulled up her pants and looked around. A door was in the middle of the room, red paint chipping.

She hurried as much as she could over to it and gave the knob a twist. Locked. Laurel cursed savagely. A thought hit her and she dug in her pockets, victoriously revealing a bobby pin. In a matter of seconds, she had finagled the door open and carefully peaked out. The corridor was dimly lit but empty. Laurel slipped out, moving as silently as possible. As she was easing the door closed again, a voice broke the silence.

"You should be resting."

Laurel yelped and spun around to see Rifleman leaning against the wall with practiced indifference. Her eyes narrowed and lip curled.

"The fuck do you care?" she spat. He just shrugged. "I suppose you aren't gunna let me leave?"

"Why would you want to leave, Laurel?" he asked. He moved closer, and she met his gaze, as blue and bottomless as the ocean. They were sharp despite their sleepy appearance, catching every twitch.

"You volunteered for this."

"I-I didn't mean-"She fumbled to find the words. He was right of course, she _had_ volunteered herself. Her inability seemed to amuse him, lips quirking under his trimmed beard.

"Off to bed, Laurel. Tomorrow will be a long day," he said. When she didn't move, he continued. "That was an order. You would do well to obey." Laurel swallowed with some difficulty and nodded. Just before she returned to her cot, she looked at him again.

"What's your name?" she asked. He paused, internally debating whether or not he should tell her. He seemed to settle on telling her.

"Barsad."


	3. Chapter 3

Training

Tony ran for the medals and scholarships. Laurel ran for the money and protection. They were two kids from very different homes. His parents encouraged him to run and go for gold and all that sappy bullshit. Laurel's father skipped town the moment her mother mentioned the words "pregnant" and "father." Her mother did her best, but a single mom could only make it so far. They ended up in the bad part of town.

Laurel understood what she did was wrong, and that the people she ran for were truly awful people. But she was in a tight spot. They needed the cash, and they needed assurance that they were safe from any _tax collectors_ in the neighborhood. Running drugs ensured both needs were met. Besides, why not get paid to do something you love?

In the seven years that she had been running, she had been caught only once. It was a stroke of luck that she managed to ditch the bag with another runner. She spent the night in jail, refusing to speak, and was rewarded in turn. Her boss, not the greasy-haired man she normally dealt with, but the Head Honcho, picked her up in the morning with a little gift. Three thousand dollars in cash for keeping her mouth shut. She had him drop her off two miles from home and walked the rest of the way. Her mother cried that night when Laurel told her that the rent, utilities, and insurance were all paid for the next few months.

It was a necessary evil that Laurel bore for the good of her family.

Fifteen miles was nothing to her.

She had worried about her ankle at first, but a man named Ivan taped it up tight enough that she could run with relatively little pain. When she thanked him, he gave her a toothless smile and a caramel.

It was easy to follow Ali's breakneck pace. She kept up, running alongside a lanky man only a few years older than her. He threw a goofy grin.

"Lionel," he panted. "Immigrant."

"Laurel. Volunteer." That threw him off but he didn't ask any questions. They spoke on and off, speculating what this place was and what they were training for. He suspected some sort of home ground terrorist organization. She wasn't sure yet; she needed more time. From talking, she gathered that he had belonged to a violent movement in London and had been recruited by these people only a few days before her. He had spent those days locked up in the room with the cots along with several others. More and more had come until she was tossed in. Twelve total, all men with some kind of military or organizational background. She soon understood why Tony had been a target. She had really fucked up their plan. So why did they take her anyways? Why not just find a replacement that fit the criteria?

They fell silent and Laurel was able to take in her surroundings. It took her a moment to recognize that they were at a seemingly abandoned airport, running along the overgrown tarmac. She only heard the collective sound of their labored breathing and the slap of their feet on the concrete. They should be quieter, she thought. This wasn't just running, it couldn't be. No, this was a test. Laurel adjusted slightly so her stride was longer and her feet hit the ground softer. Lionel seemed to notice and did his best to imitate her motion, flashing her a grateful grin. No one else caught on.

Five more miles passed uneventfully. Some of the men were beginning to lag behind. Clearly not everyone was used to such conditioning. Lionel appeared fine, and Laurel knew she was good for a while.

It started as a prickle at the back of her neck. Something was off, she just couldn't quite place it. After a moment, she noticed a new sound: Someone had fallen behind, ruining the rhythm they had set. They had given up. Laurel kept her eyes forward, refusing to let her pace falter. This was a test, she had to pass the test. Ali shouted for everyone to stop. Laurel forced Lionel upright as Ali shoved his way through them to reach the dud. Lionel bent to whisper in her ear.

"Alexei, Russian fleeing the KGB. So he says."

For a split second, it looked as if Ali was going to help Alexei. Laurel knew better. One moment Alexei was bent at the waist, panting, and the next, Ali had him on his back sobbing. With savage grace, he snapped his neck like a pencil and Alexei fell limp. Ali shouldered past us to the front and set a new harder pace. Laurel didn't waste a moment, dragging Lionel behind her as she sprinted to the front. It took the rest a few more seconds, which she was sure didn't go unnoticed.

No one else fell behind.

Eleven now.

Laurel quickly learned their names with Lionel's help as they ate a quick, bland lunch. Geoff, a hacker-slash-army man like Tony from Berlin. Thomas, an American sniper that was dishonorably discharged. He leered at her and she returned it with an indifferent sneer. There was four men that seemed to stick together; Muhammad, Micah, O'Ryan, and Sabra. Which left Hussein, Charl, and Nev. Lionel confessed that he didn't know much about them.

"How can you eat this shit without gaggin?" Lionel asked as she shoveled in the rest of his mush. She would guess it was pureed beans of some sort.

"Food is food," she shrugged. He gave her a strange look and let her finish his plate.

"I hope we aren't supposed to be grouping up," he said quietly.

"I'm fucked if we are," she joked and he sniggered. She waited til she swallowed to continue, keeping her voice low. "I don't think we are. I think they're getting rid of us."

"What, like only one man survives?"

"I think-"She was cut off by Ali demanding silence. He was accompanied by a muscular woman with shorn hair. They spoke to each other and Ali stepped back.

"My name is Sutzie," she called out. French, Laurel decided quickly. "Many of you speak multiple languages. That is good. For those who do not," her gaze fell on Laurel and Lionel, "learn quickly." Like when they had the shit beaten out of them, men emerged from the shadows and paired with them. Laurel gave the same man from before a dark glower which only made him laugh.

"I warned you," he said. "You cannot deny, yes?" Laurel relented with a nod.

"M'name's Laurel," she said.

"Raphael," he bowed. "Any languages?"

"Only English." He tutted in mock disappointment that she suspected wasn't entirely feigned. She shot Lionel a look that he quickly returned.

"No problem," Raphael said. "Raphael is great teacher."

"And what language are you teaching?"

"Spanish. A quarter of the men of the League speak it," he explained. "Learn it and you will be fine. It is best to know all of them, but that will take time."

"How many are there?"

"Nine."

"I want to learn two," she said. "The most spoken."

"You want learn Russian and Spanish?" Raphael looked at her like she was crazy. "No Russian teachers."

"How can there not be a teacher? It's one of the languages!"

"Yes, but no one teach except for-"He caught himself, guilt flashing in his honey gold eyes.

"Except?" she prodded. She could do this. She had four years of high school Spanish under her belt, not to mention half-assed lessons from other runners.

"Barsad is the only teacher."

"Perfect," she said. "You teach me Spanish. He can teach me Russian."

"I never said-"

"Raphael," came a sharp voice from behind her. She kept her satisfied smirk hidden as Raphael ducked his head. She turned in her seat to face Barsad, his sleepy eyes sharp and dangerous.

"I want to learn Russian as well," Laurel told him.

"I don't care what you want," he returned. He began to leave and Laurel darted out of her seat to catch him. She felt the stares of a dozen pairs of eyes on her back. She kept her voice barely above a whisper.

"I will not be cut. I will not die here," she hissed. He looked past her at the men watching. Once satisfied, he gave her an answer.

"No. Survive on your own." Barsad strode off and Laurel sank down again across from a stricken Raphael.

"You must be more careful, Laurel," he warned. "He is not one you should upset."

"Thanks, Raphael," she said. "Let's get started."


	4. Chapter 4

An Agreement

"She knows?" Talia exclaimed incredulously. "How can she know?"

"Do not play dumb, sister," Barsad growled. "It is annoying." She ignored him and continued to pace and muse aloud.

"She is far more than I imagined or hoped for," she said. "See, Bane? Is it not best that the boy did not join? Is she not a better candidate?" Bane said nothing from the book he was engrossed in. She didn't let it affect her. He heard her, he just refused to admit that she was right. He would come to accept it in time, Barsad too. She threw herself onto the small couch, smashing her side against Barsad. He made a noise of thinly veiled disgust and tried to move away.

"Come now Barsad," she whined. "Teach my little pet."

"Pet?"

It was the first that Bane had spoken, voice cracking from disuse. He cast Talia a look, his gray eyes unreadable to all except her. A small smile played on her lips at his interest. Yes, she had known he would come to see her side of things.

"Yes," Talia said airily. "I believe she will be the perfect sister."

"Why would you need her?" Bane demanded. _You have us_ , was what he left unsaid, hanging in the tense air between them. She straightened up, allowing Barsad his escape.

"I need a Barsad of my own," she said sharply. "One who will think only of me and my safety."

"And what of me?"

Barsad began to shift uncomfortably beside her as Bane's eyes crackled with subdued anger and hurt. Were he anyone else, she might worry about him, and whether he would harm her. However, Barsad was loyal to Bane and would never dare touch her. Not that she was helpless. She was just weaker since Gotham. She needed one like Barsad, a shadow to replace her strength.

"Barsad, leave us," Talia ordered. He paused, waiting for the nod from Bane before slipping away gracefully. He closed the door behind him.

Barsad exhaled a sigh of relief. He was losing his ability to tolerate Talia, but she had had a point. Talia needed someone who had no other purpose except her protection. Bane was stretched too thin between training and recruiting and watching Talia and trying to rest. He worried his brother was forgoing sleep to keep the League in operation.

He had believed that Talia giving over leadership to Bane would be a good thing. She was a flawless planner, but she lacked the leadership necessary to instill loyalty. Bane was a magnificent leader, something she had recognized and quickly put to use. Barsad suspected she knew Gotham had failed due to her misgivings as a leader instead of Bane's. Though she would never admit it.

Barsad moved of his own accord, allowing his feet to take him where they please. Unfortunately, he ended up outside the steel door once more. Just on the other side was a dozen cots with eleven bodies caught in an exhausted sleep. He cocked his head; maybe not all asleep. He heard a faint singing, the melody vaguely familiar. It was not English, he knew. Spanish most likely.

Ah. He knew that melody. It was one Raphael often hummed while cleaning his gun, training, or even eating.

Barsad pushed open the door slowly so it didn't creak and slipped inside. As he suspected, all were asleep save one. She laid on her side, her back to him. She continued to hum, unaware of his presence. She didn't fumble the words as many did when first learning a language. The pronunciation and accent were perfect.

"He taught you well," Barsad murmured. She started, the tune broken, and got to her feet. She was a nervous creature. Her face relaxed when she recognized him in the dark.

"Creep," she accused and sat down again. She left room for him, but he just moved to stand at the end of her cot. "Raph is a brilliant teacher. Very clever." He didn't take her bait.

"Yes, that is why he teaches and others do not," he said curtly. She rolled her green eyes at him, catching him.

"You need to try harder, Barsad," she teased. "I'm afraid you're becoming transparent." His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.

"Perhaps I will." She laughed softly, glancing around for any listeners. He watched her closely.

Just looking at her, he couldn't comprehend the savageness he had witnessed three days ago. She had completely destroyed the boy, her friend if he had to guess. It was necessary, he understood, but he still couldn't quite believe how quickly she had acted. When he had checked the boy over, he had two broken knees and a shattered hand. This little girl had done that.

"Stop staring," she admonished. "It's weird."

"Why did you maim the boy?" Laurel flinched; the question was unexpected. He supposed it was the first time she had thought of the boy for the past few days. It would certainly explain the guilt in those mossy green eyes.

"You needed him," she said slowly, carefully. "Hurting him was the only way to protect him."

"What would he need protecting from?" he asked with a snort.

"Good night, Barsad," she said instead, crawling under the thin blanket. He tried to hide his annoyance at her evasiveness. She was on her side, eyes closed, ignoring him. Thinking back, he doesn't know why he did it. He could have just left her there and never come back. It would have been easier. It would have been smarter.

"I'll teach you Russian," he blurted and fled before she could speak.

"Fucking fool," he cursed himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Cut Offs

Day four was significantly different from the first three days and Laurel wasn't the only one who noticed. Lionel was blissfully ignorant, but Nev and Charl seemed just as on edge as herself. They paced up and down the room as they waited for the door to open. No one dared try to get out or draw attention to themselves. Laurel plopped down next to Nev.

"You feel it too?" she guessed. He eyed her warily for a while before deciding she wasn't a threat, and nodded.

"Like the Russian," he muttered. He gestured with his hands, signing his uneasiness.

"Alexei?" He nodded again.

"I'm Laurel." She extended her hand and he took it, dwarfing her hand with his own.

"Nev."

Darkness fell over them and someone shouted in surprise. Laurel sprung from the bed and pressed her back to the wall. She couldn't see anything, her eyes refusing to adjust. Someone was to her left, she could hear his heavy breathing. She kept her own shallow and quiet.

There was the sound of someone falling to the ground. Laurel's mind raced to figure out the test. What was happening? What did they _want_ to happen? She felt a hand on her forearm, fingers tracing, spelling out something.

Nev.

With him at her back, they began to move away from the wall, heading in the general direction of the door. A hard body fell on her and she quickly slammed her fist into any available surface. There was some cursing in Spanish. Was that Raphael? It didn't matter because Nev was still moving and she couldn't lose him. He pushed against her as he defended himself, letting out soft grunts.

There was more noise, undignified shrieks and pained grunts as fists found their marks. Laurel managed to keep herself quiet, stepping lightly. She gave an internal cry of joy when a door knob suddenly pressed into her side. Nev brushed her as he felt the wall and flipped on the light.

It should have been horrifying to see so many crumpled and bleeding bodies knowing any one of them could have been her. Ali, Raphael, and Sutzie were the only ones standing besides Nev and her. She gave Thomas a smug look. He glowered as he clutched his bleeding nose. Charl seemed uninjured, having kneeled the moment darkness fell on them. Ali growled in a foreign language and Nev bowed his head. Laurel leaned over to ask what he said, but learned when Raphael crouched down.

Lionel laid in a pool of blood, his throat slit. Laurel felt her stomach clench painfully, but she kept her face neutral. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught Thomas sniggering. Raphael spoke before she could.

"Well, it was not me." Sutzie gave a motion innocence, looking to Ali. He glared at the rest of them, and Laurel felt afraid of the man for the first time. It had been evident that Ali had held back when dealing with them, but that was all about to change.

"It doesn't matter. Clean it up," he barked at them. "The other one too."

And sure enough, Hussein was dead, his head bent at an unnatural angle.

Ali, Sutzie, and Raphael filed out, Raphael winking at her on the way. She didn't smile or even acknowledge it. Moving mechanically, she and Nev grabbed Lionel and began to drag him away. Neither was exactly sure where they should put him and they definitely weren't going to ask someone. Sutzie stood outside the door.

"Fourth door on the left," she instructed and left. They hauled him to the door and pushed it open. A rush of icy air swept over them. A morgue. Of course there would be a morgue in a place like this. Laurel pressed her lips to a thin line and carried Lionel in. On three, they hefted him onto an empty table and Nev left. Laurel lingered a moment, wondering exactly what would happen to him. Would they send his body home? Or just burn him here and forget about him? She half ran out the door, nearly slamming into Geoff and Charl, Hussein's limp body between them.

They were finally allowed to shower and it wasn't a moment too soon. Most of the men- and Laurel too if she was honest- were already pretty ripe. Raphael popped his head in to inform them were the showers were and shot her another wink. Laurel rolled her eyes again. She had no doubt that the showers were open and she wouldn't be getting her own. It didn't bother her much, she wasn't shy. She followed the rest to the showers, Nev sticking close to her, Charl behind him. She pretended not to notice.

Sure enough, the showers were reminiscent of high school locker rooms, not a curtain in sight. Laurel waited til the others had chosen a shower before she stripped down and found her own. There were leers because these were men. Say what you want about sexism, but men who didn't know whether they would live or die were going to leer at the only naked female body present. She easily ignored them in favor of the scalding water, scrubbing her body the best she could without soap. Her hair provided more difficulty, tangled and crunchy with dried sweat and blood. She should cut it, she thought to herself.

Laurel was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice that most of the men had gone, leaving only Thomas, Muhammad, and O'Ryan. She was in the middle of raking through her tangled blonde mane with her fingers when she finally noticed that only her shower was still on. She quickly shut it off and turned around to see the three men moving in with cruel looks.

She was trapped.


	6. Chapter 6

Showers

****Warning for non-con/rape. I'll put stars before it so you can skip it.****

She was so fucked.

Laurel braced herself in a show of bravery, while her insides churned. She arched a single brow at Thomas, the de facto leader of the trio. He wore a savage grin on his face.

"I've been waitin' for this since I saw you," he drawled.

"Fuck you." She spat, hitting him square in the face. He growled and wiped it away. She was painfully aware of her nakedness and their clothes. Was that a disadvantage or not? She figured it was.

"Oh, I plan on fuckin' _you_ , little girl," he sneered.

They moved as one, Muhammad and O'Ryan lunging for her sides while Thomas made a grab for her neck. She threw herself back, catching them off guard. In turn, she knocked her head sharply on the metal shower head, making her dizzy. Hands clutched each arm, pulling in opposite directions. She let out a pained whimper when her left shoulder popped out of its socket. Thomas's hands circled her neck and he began to squeeze as he slammed her head against the wall again and again until she began to sag. Laurel gasped for breath, her vision blurring.

She knew she should move but she found herself unable, growing weaker and weaker.

They roughly spun her around and pressed her up against the wall. His breath was hot in her ear. A hard bulge pressed against her backside, unwelcome and uncomfortable. She squirmed pitifully and he laughed.

"Do that again." She began to cry, the fear and frustration and anger just overpowering her. Her body shook with the force of her sobs.

"Hurry up, Tommy," O'Ryan insisted. "Someone might notice!" Her sobbing sounded foreign to her ears, refusing to believe the sounds belonged to her.

"Alright, alright," Thomas muttered and his hands vanished from her neck. She heard the sound a belt unbuckling and a zipper being undone and she groaned in apprehension.

"She's gagging for it," he chuckled slimily. The hot, blunt head of his cock nudged against her opening and she thrashed. Thomas held her firmly in place with relative ease. He pushed in without pause and she screamed, her body trying to reject the intrusion. A hand clapped over her mouth and he began to thrust.

Tears flooded her eyes, pained and ashamed at the abuse. Each thrust threatened to tear her apart and she was sure she was bleeding when the slide suddenly smoothed out slightly.

Laurel tried to let her mind take her away from what was happening. Go to her happy place and ignore the pain. Muhammad and O'Ryan were muttering dirty things and encouragements to Thomas as he took his pleasure from her body. He seemed to be getting close, his movements jerky and erratic.

Then he suddenly pulled out roughly and the hands released her. She crumpled to the floor, sobbing softly, her throat and vagina aching. She laid there in the water, unaware of anything except her pain and shame. She thought she heard her name being called, but she just curled further in on herself. A cloth was pressed to her nose and she drifted away to a chemical smell.

She awoke on a bed. An honest to god bed. It was almost enough to make her forget the past few days and believe she was at home. Then a flash of pain in her vagina had her memories flying back to her in a rush. Laurel moaned and rolled to her side, knees drawn to her chest.

"Laurel," said a familiar voice and a hand touched her forehead gently. "Laurel," it repeated closer to her. She cracked open an eye to see Barsad, his sleepy blue eyes bright with concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Terrible," she croaked, wincing slightly.

"Do you remember what happened?" She just nodded, not ready to speak again. "Who did this?"

Of course, she knew she should tell him. But there was nineteen years of having 'don't snitch' engrained into every fiber of her being that refused to let her. Barsad wasn't a cop, but snitching was snitching. Not to mention, that temper of hers was beginning to boil, reminding her of another lesson. Revenge was sweet and it would be hers to take, not his. She clenched her jaw and shook her head.

Barsad jerked back, anger replacing the concern.

"You didn't see?" he demanded and she didn't move. He narrowed his eyes. "You won't tell?" She nodded, eyes blazing as that temper filled her, masking the pain. He pushed himself up and away from the bed cursing in Russian.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he raged, pacing. "I found you in that goddamn shower bleeding and bruised and you protect them?!"

She tried to look as menacing as she could laying down. It wasn't an easy task.

"I'm no snitch," she rasped, barely above a whisper. "I'll take care of it myself."

"Because you handled them so well the first time," he shot back cruelly, still pacing. Laurel didn't say anything; she didn't have to.

"I will just ask Nev," Barsad threatened. She knew it was an empty threat as much as he did. Even if Nev knew, he wouldn't tell if she explained her reasoning. She wasn't sure how she knew this; she just felt it in her. Barsad snarled at her and the door behind him opened. Laurel bristled slightly as the man and woman from the cafeteria entered.

Laurel had felt a sense of belonging here that she had never felt anywhere else. However, these two had threatened to harm Tony and that residual protectiveness stirred within her. They just looked at her; concern in his eyes, curiosity in hers. Laurel felt the same upon seeing it.

"What has happened?" asked the man in his oddly accented voice. His scars pulled when he spoke, but it didn't rob him of his attractiveness. Laurel hadn't noticed it before, but it was apparent this close. A crooked nose, probably broken long ago, but plump lips and expressive grey eyes. She could see hesitance in those eyes, a shyness.

She didn't realize that he was speaking to her and that she had been just staring until the woman delicately cleared her throat. Laurel shook herself and the woman smirked.

"It was a misunderstanding," Laurel said quietly. Barsad snorted derisively.

"A misunderstanding?" he repeated slowly.

"Talia-"The woman cut Barsad off with a wave of her small hand. She was tiny, but Laurel didn't doubt her for a moment. Even with a slight limp, she moved gracefully as she came to sit at Laurel's feet. She smiled at her, her eyes bright.

"You have done spectacular, Laurel," she praised. Laurel tried not to preen. She felt her anger simmering as the woman continued to point out how well she was doing, and how well she would do in the future. It said something about her childhood that Laurel didn't want to admit to.

"Now," Talia said, "tell me what happened and who did it."

The urge to please the woman was overwhelming. It was unlike anything she had experienced. As if telling Talia what she wanted to know would solve all her problems. So long as she had Talia, nothing bad would ever happen again. Laurel opened her mouth, the words threatening to spill out.

Then she caught sight of Barsad, body screaming from tension, his gaze fixed on her.

"I can't," she said.

Barsad cursed so loudly and explicitly that the man barked at him. He bowed his head and retreated out the door. Laurel relaxed ever so slightly but found herself unable to look at Talia. She spoke in another language to the man, who then responded.

"Bane thinks we should let Barsad deal with this nonsense," Talia said and Laurel peeked up at the man, Bane. His grey eyes watched her closely and she flushed for the first time. "It's his duty, I agree." Laurel clenched her teeth, prepared to resist.

"However," she continued. "I believe we should allow you to deal with this as you please."

Laurel finally looked up at her in shock to see the woman smiling widely. There was a warmth and dangerousness in her eyes. And something else.

 _Understanding_ , Laurel's mind supplied. Talia understood.

"Thank you," Laurel whispered.

"Three days should suffice. Yes?" Bane asked and Laurel nodded eagerly to their amusement. Talia rose from her bed but not before making sure that Laurel was secure in her bed.

"Rest," Talia ordered. "Tomorrow you begin Russian."


	7. Chapter 7

(So i deleted the old ch 7 because it wasnt the version that i wanted to post. i blame my POS computer. I hope y'all like it.)

The Next Day

Laurel didn't learn Russian the next day. She hardly moved the next day in fact. A man came in every so often to give her pain medicine for her injuries that had her on the edge of sleep.

It was probably noon when Talia found her.

Laurel couldn't help but be struck by her beauty. Such a lovely face, and yet she was entirely lethal. Laurel had no doubts that Talia could easily kill her with a flick of her dainty wrist. She snorted; she was calling Talia dainty and Laurel was at least three inches and twenty pounds smaller. Talia smiled and came to sit by her waist.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in that terribly attractive accent. Laurel wondered if perhaps she had a bit of a girl crush on Talia and if Talia could tell.

"Fine," she shrugged. "A little out of it."

"Yes, that would be the medicine," she nodded.

"I don't need it," Laurel said. Talia raised a perfectly arched brow at her. "You know, if other people need it more than me." It was a while before she spoke again, silently appraising Laurel. It was becoming just on the verge of uncomfortable when Talia finally said,

"Very well. There are some who will thank you."

"Uh, good," Laurel mumbled, cheeks flushed. She felt exposed, as if Talia could see right through her with those lovely green eyes.

"Have you given any more thought to your plans?" she asked suddenly.

"No, not really," Laurel admitted. Jeesh, it had only been a day and while that had been enough to give her plenty of ideas, she had no solid plan as of yet.

"Might I offer some information?" Laurel nodded, eager for anything Talia said. The woman could read the ingredients off a soup label and she would eat up every word.

"There are some punishments here that outweigh others," she said ominously. Laurel's mind raced to unscramble what she was really saying, the meaning beneath the words. She drew a blank.

"Care to elaborate?" she tried sheepishly. Talia laughed softly, a melodic sound that sent a shiver down Laurel's spin. She was really beginning to doubt her sexuality with the way she was acting around Talia. A woman like her probably had people throwing themselves at her all the time, what was one more?

"I'm afraid not, little sister," Talia chuckled. "Consider it another test, since you are so fond of them."

Laurel cocked her head, eyes narrowed. How had Talia known? Obviously they had all been tests, though Laurel had yet to unravel the purpose behind each of them. But she was sure that she hadn't told anyone. Perhaps she was not as clever as she thought. In a last ditch effort to maintain some secretiveness, Laurel latched on to her first words.

"Sister," she repeated, trying out the word.

"Yes," Talia nodded. "I have no doubt that you will be my sister soon enough."

Laurel liked the sound of that, it made her chest grow warm with acceptance. Her cheeks were red, she knew, but Talia didn't laugh at her. It felt okay to be seen like this by her.

"Can I stay here?" she asked. Talia cocked her head at the question.

"This is someone else's room," she said. The swift clench of rejection hurt, and Laurel tried not to let her see how it affected her. She tried to look away, but Talia gently grabbed her chin so she looked at her.

"Bane and my bed is always open, sister," she said softly. "We are so rarely here together that there is almost always room. Even with him in it." Laurel snickered at that, pleasing Talia.

"He wouldn't mind?" Laurel wasn't frightened of him so much as worried he considered her an annoyance.

"Of course not," she assured her. "Bane is always eager for one to listen to his ramblings at night. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" So much for nonchalance.

It was no matter, as Talia laughed and promised to show her before she had to leave again. She didn't give Laurel a chance to ask where she would be going, instead telling her to sleep before she left.

"You learn Russian tomorrow morning."


	8. Chapter 8

Lessons, любимая

(This chapter will not have actual Russian in it because google translate isn't necessarily accurate and the story will go smoother if I'm not translating every lesson. I know, I'm lazy.)

Barsad was late.

Laurel found herself unable to sleep after Talia left, her mind racing. It often happened when she got worked up, refusing to shut down long enough to drift off. She kept replaying Talia's offer in her head. She had been excited last night but that twist of hesitance had her stomach in knots.

At some point, however, she must have drifted off because she found a neat folded stack of clothes at her feet when light began to filter through the small window. The pants were small, possibly Talia's, and she felt a surge of warmth as she recalled how Talia had called her "sister." There were boots too, close to her size but still too big. The thick socks helped a little. The shirt was another issue. It was much too large; so she was swimming in the black cotton. It was clearly a favorite shirt, soft and worn. It carried a smell like old leather books, spices, and something decidedly masculine. Laurel thought it was familiar, perhaps the same she had smelled on the pillow, only much stronger.

Laurel quickly pulled it on, inhaling deeply. She was interrupted by a deliberate cough and she spun around, caught. Barsad was watching her with an amused smirk. Laurel scowled.

"You're late."

"Am I?" He didn't look or sound very apologetic and Laurel's scowl deepened.

"Talia said morning," she said.

"And it is only six forty-five," he replied easily. "Honestly, I was surprised to find you awake," he added.

"I couldn't sleep," Laurel half-snarled, plopping down on the made bed. It was clean, leftover from her brief stint as a hotel maid, the only good that came from her first honest job. Barsad didn't move, but his eyes changed.

"Are you in pain?" he asked. "They said you denied the meds." She waved him off, cheeks slightly flushed.

"I'm fine. My sides hurt a little and… down there," she mumbled the last part but he caught it and his face hardened, as if he suddenly remembered why she was there. He looked like he wanted to say something; probably yell at her more for not telling him names; so she spoke before he could.

"So, Russian." The affect was instantaneous, the smoothing of his features. He fired off rapidly in what she thought was Russian, disregarding her confused stare. He finished and raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing. I told you I don't speak Russian."

"Yes, you said that about Spanish as well," Barsad pointed out. "Yet Raphael claims you are nearing fluency."

"I just wasn't sure if I would remember it," she shrugged.

"I thought you might remember Russian." It took her a moment to realize it was as close to a joke as he would probably get, and she laughed. His lips twitched slightly, pleased.

"Let's do this," she said, grinning.

Russian was terrible.

She had no basic foundation like she had while learning Spanish in high school. It was all entirely new and foreign. Barsad, unlike Raphael, preferred a more hands on approach. In other words, they trained while he taught. She was torn between trying to avoid jabs at her weak spots- and there were plenty- while struggling to repeat the alphabet and numbers back to him. He was especially vicious when she fumbled or mispronounced words. Laurel gritted her teeth, enduring every well aimed punch and controlled kick.

She was rewarded when she finally completed both tasks without mistakes while still sparring. Barsad stopped suddenly, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Very good, Laurel," he commended. "You're doing well." Laurel's face split into a pleased grin and her insides felt warm. It was the first time since she had been here that Barsad had praised her. She wasn't too proud to admit that it felt good to have her successes admired. It was enough to embolden her.

"Can I tell you something, Barsad?" He seemed surprised, but bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"Talia said I could sleep with her and Bane," she admitted slowly. "Are- is she testing me?"

Barsad stiffened and regarded her blankly.

"Do you want to?"

"Well, yeah, but…" How could she explain that she wasn't so sure anymore. It had been such a surprise that she had practically jumped at the offer. Now, though, she didn't think it was for the best.

She had to show the rest that she was resilient, that she didn't need favoritism to survive this initiation.

"Talia would not offer something like that as a trick," was all he said. "Come along, we have much to cover."

"I have business to attend to," Talia announced. Bane didn't look up from his reading though she knew he was listening. "In my absence, keep the girl close." The book snapped shut, she had his attention.

"How close?" He didn't sound confused, merely curious.

"I believe she needs a new room," Talia said lightly, watching Barsad from his spot behind Bane. He went still but didn't speak. Bane paid no attention to his faithful brother. "She will take up less room than I in our bed."

"She is small," Bane agreed. He sounded hesitant. She went over to him, dropping into his lap easily. Barsad was trembling with his effort to remain still.

"She is," Talia granted. "And while she seems eager, I would suggest a more platonic approach."

That seemed to relax Bane, as he melted under her touch. She lightly traced his scars, an intimacy that only Barsad was privy to. Bane's warm grey eyes slipped closed and his breathing slowed. She replaced her fingers with her lips, kissing softly.

"Habibi," he murmured.

"She seems fine in my room," Barsad blurted, drawing them out of their little world. Bane's eyes flew open, though he was curious again, rather than annoyed like her. She sat up to meet Barsad's defiant gaze.

"Forcing yourself on her already?" she lashed out with careful precision. "She's had enough of that I believe."

"Oh and forcing her in bed with Bane is any better?" he snapped. Talia slid off Bane's lap, pulling out of his grasp. She knew he would not intervene, afraid of taking sides.

"She has made it clear that she was quite comfortable with it when I asked her," Talia said sharply. It was torturing him, she could tell. He wanted so badly to just attack, to get rid of her at last. Deep down, in the place in her heart that she let herself feel emotion, it hurt to see her brother hate her so much. They had been so close once and now there was no love in his eyes. So she lashed out, knowing exactly how to hurt him.

"Brother, do you want the girl?" Bane asked quietly. Barsad's nostrils flared, his sleepy eyes narrowed and venomous. He was brimming with malice.

It was practically an admission.

Then Barsad seemed to remember who it was he was talking to and the fight left him as suddenly as it came. He slumped in defeat, unable to meet their gazes.

"No, brother," he mumbled. Talia grinned smugly at her victory, but Bane was disappointed. He did not push Barsad though, recognizing when the man had met his limit.

"Perhaps the girl should return to the recruits," Bane said, startling both of them. Talia gaped at her lover. How dare he even suggest such a thing? She said as much and he levelled her with a cool look.

"Talia, you are letting your wants cloud your logic," he admonished, only adding fuel to the fire. "I wish to see the girl prove herself."

"Has she not been through enough already?" Talia demanded shrilly. Even Barsad was nodding in agreement, similarly angered.

"No, she has not." Bane silenced them both with his hand. "She is a recruit. She will sleep with the other recruits and she will learn to protect herself."

"This is outrageous!" Talia exclaimed. "How can you expect her to protect herself?"

"If she cannot, she is not worthy to protect you, sister." Barsad's jaw snapped shut with an audible click and Talia was effectively silenced. It was clear if she would just look. Bane knew she understood and he nodded.

"She returns to the others."


	9. Chapter 9

The Return

"You will return to your cot," Bane ordered briskly. Laurel let out a sigh of relief. She had initially thought that Bane had come to collect her, expecting a considerable amount of awkwardness.

"Oh thank god," she said before she could stop herself. He didn't say anything, but she felt his confusion. She hastened to explain. "I appreciate the offer, I mean you and Talia are both _very_ attractive. But I need to fix this shit fest before it gets any worse." It seemed that her first reaction to Bane had merely been a one-time thing. There was no fumbling or nervousness now. If Talia was here it might be different. She had the both the ability to calm and unnerve Laurel.

Bane just grumbled his approval and led her to the main room where the others were gathered eating.

It reminded her that she had hardly ate for some time.

Laurel had known to plan for the moment when she would see _them_ again. She focused on schooling her features, passing over every face with neutrality save Nev. She slid next to him, stealing the bread from his plate. His golden eyes lit up, a grin spread on his face.

"She lives," he said. Across from them, Charl smirked.

"It is good to see you," he said.

"Yes, I know." Charl shook his head while Nev stole back his bread. He was quick to offer the rest of his plate. She greedily dug in, stomach rumbling.

"Disgusting Americans," Nev muttered in mock disgust.

Laurel had been worried but it seemed it was all for nothing. After all, she hadn't spoken to either of them before the day Lionel died. They weren't friends, just as she and Lionel hadn't been friends. The two of them didn't bring it up or treat her gently. They mocked and teased her for what she had missed. Asked if she had gone soft. She promised to show them how soft she was when training began.

"Good," Nev said. "Raphael has been unruly without you."

"He barely knows me," she replied. Was Raphael really one to grow attached so soon?

The sound of her name when training resumed was answer enough: yes, he did.

Training had become more brutal in the short time that she had been away. The only thing unchanged was the recruits. All of them were still fumbling, never gaining the upper hand. It seemed that any kind of training they had was useless up against the people here. It didn't take Laurel long to understand why.

The recruits were taught through meticulous lessons, moves that were controlled and slowed. They had rarely used them in real life. You could be taught to fight, but not the way Raphael and the others fought. It came from experience and from their mentality. They didn't fight to survive, they fought as if they didn't care if they survived. It allowed more risky moves that paid off almost every time. Laurel recognized it immediately. How many times had she fought off people back home, ruthlessly and uncaring?

So when Raphael came at her slow and gentle, she threw herself at him with a savageness she easily unleashed. She tackled him to the ground, winding her thin legs around his arms, pinning them to his body. He was immobilized save his legs, but to get up, he would have to take her with. She held her wrist, jerking her forearm tight against his windpipe. He was gasping for breath when a hand touched her shoulder.

She let go and rolled away to see Bane. He was watching her with pride in his eyes, mouth threatening to smile.

"Excellent," he praised. Raphael scrambled to his feet, flushing sheepishly. Bane turned to him. "She isn't made of glass, brother."

"Clearly," he chuckled. Bane nodded to them and left them. Raphael cast her a wary look. "Where did that come from, hm?"

"I'm not quite sure," she said slyly.

It was the only time she got him on his back that day.

Talia's advice had been on her mind all day, lurking below the adrenaline. Laurel had always enjoyed riddles but this one was different. She hadn't the slightest inkling as to what it meant. Or if it was even a riddle. She had the feeling that people here just spoke cryptically, the meaning clear if you only looked at it.

 _There are some punishments here that outweigh others._

Laurel growled out her frustration as she went to shower. She hadn't been too worried about seeing Thomas and the other two earlier. They kept their distance and had hardly looked at her. She treated them with a practiced indifference, though secretly glad that training kept them all too preoccupied. Now though, her worry seeped through.

No, she told herself sternly. You'll be fine.

She entered the showers to find Nev, O'Ryan, Charl, and Sabra. Laurel let out a sigh of relief and stripped. Her body was various shades of black, purple, and blues, with several patches of yellowing bruises. The soreness was just below the surface, but the hot water helped.

"You can't even tell how pale you are," Nev teased, and she scowled. It was true she was pale, but there was nothing to be done about it. She glanced over at O'Ryan but he was staring anywhere but at her. Nev noticed and followed her gaze. When she met his eyes, his were hard and understanding. She shook her head slightly and he glared at her.

"You finished?" he asked her. She quickly washed her hair and nodded, reluctantly leaving the warmth. As they dressed, he leaned over. "He was one of them, wasn't he?"

"Leave it, Nev," she said, voice low and dangerous.

"I saw you, Laurel," he hissed. "They don't deserve your protection."

"And they don't have it," she snapped back. He didn't flinch away and she looked around before explaining. "I'm taking care of it, just let it be."

He didn't look satisfied. In fact, he looked quite the opposite, clearly pissed at being left out. It was hardly his business, they didn't know each other. Was she the only one hesitant at fully trusting people? She hadn't been the most trusting person before this, but these men were military or rebels. Shouldn't they be skeptics?

"You can trust me," he said softly. Her stomach tightened, and she stepped away.

"Can I?" She left before he could reply.

Laurel understood that she would have to have people on her side if she wanted to survive this initiation. But as it was, she had trouble believing any of the other recruits. Talia and Bane and Barsad were different, even Raphael. What purpose did they have to deceive her? She found none, and therefore found no reason not to trust them. She supposed her irrational affection for Talia had something to do with it. No doubt some of that residual affection had transferred over to Bane.

As for Barsad, she wasn't so sure if it was fondness. Something about him just drew her to him. It wasn't like how Talia had attracted her, like a moth to light. Her connection with Barsad was more subtle, like the tugging of a string-

She scowled at herself. It was one thing to harbor a small crush on Talia and Bane, the two were like the Golden couple at a high school. It was something else entirely to feel something for Barsad. The man would probably laugh and then belittle her in Russian. The humiliation would be enough to kill her.

Thankfully, she had years of practice smothering her feelings and emotions. It would be as if she felt nothing, she told herself.

It was nothing.


End file.
